


The Window to the Soul

by draculard



Category: Misery - Stephen King
Genre: Delusions, Dreams vs. Reality, Implied/Referenced Torture, Masturbation, Multi, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sponge Baths, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21575158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: She wants Misery Chastain's soft, dainty hands on her waist.She'll settle for Paul's, instead.
Relationships: Annie Wilkes/Misery Chastain, Paul Sheldon/Annie Wilkes
Kudos: 22





	The Window to the Soul

Mama Wilkes always said no child of hers would grow up dirty, and she was right. Annie is familiar with what she calls the “clean” dirt  — she’s gotten her hands dirty helping patients; she’s gotten dirty cleaning out the pigsty. She is not afraid of the dirt which comes from hard work, honest work.

This is different.

This is a nasty dream; this is something women like Annie simply don’t do. She shouldn’t be dreaming about someone else doing things with her that are meant for the marital bed. Touching.  _ Kissing.  _ She shouldn’t be dreaming about these things with a  _ woman, _ with a slender, beautiful, graceful woman who’s everything Annie Wilkes proudly is not. 

She cares for Paul Sheldon like a good nurse would. She tries not to show her resentment for what he’s given her. He’s created the woman of her dreams. He’s made Annie dirty.

And she can’t be mad at him.

He looks nothing like Misery, but he’s got her eyes.

* * *

When Annie leans over him to check his bandages, he holds his breath, because he knows what’s coming and he doesn’t want to be sick. Still, that smell sweeps over him, invades his nostrils  — the scent of stale sex, of unwashed underwear, of sweat dried onto Annie’s skin. Her hand rests on his forehead, checking his temperature, and he closes his eyes, tightens his jaw against the smell of Annie’s cunt which clings to her fingers.

She doesn’t know he can smell it. She’s happily oblivious; he can tell. And so long as he keeps his gorge down and the mixture of disgust and trepidation off his face, it’ll stay that way. He hopes to God she’s not thinking about him when she touches herself. It’s bad enough when she strips him for a sponge bath; he couldn’t handle anything more than that.

She smiles at him, small black eyes in a swollen, pale face. Lank hair clinging to her damp skin.

He’s not sure if she’s looking at him in fondness or greed. 

* * *

She tugs the waistband of his pajama pants down and washes him without a trace of gentility. Her hand is rough. Her movements are brisk, impersonal.

But she glances up at him and something glints in her eyes, and Paul’s heart sinks. His cock is limp when her thumb grazes it, her calluses coarse against the most sensitive part of his skin.

“No,” Paul says, and he hears how firm and steady his voice is, but he doesn’t have it in him to be proud of himself for that. His limbs feel like they’re full of cold water; he couldn’t move them if he tried. Can’t fight it.

She leans over him. He smells a mix of homemade toothpaste and rotting teeth on her breath.

_ Why’s she looking at me like that?  _ he wonders.

_ What does she see in my eyes? _


End file.
